The Answer to Your Prayers
by softcorecurls
Summary: Theon always wanted to switch lives with Robb Stark, but what happens when Gods answer the wrong prayers? Theon/Robb, language and heavy sexual content later! Based off the show, not the books. Takes place in an alternate reality after Robb sends Theon to the Iron Islands.
1. Chapter 1

Theon felt many things as the wind whipped through his hair and the salt spray chafed his cheeks. He was watching his sister's ships sail back from someplace north of Pyke, probably returning from a village raid or some kind of disciplinary action that had to be taken with an island offshoot. The waters looked fierce today, thrashing about in the wide blue oblivion. The ocean was like a surrogate mother to him-it birthed him, only to be raised by wolves, far from the sand and high rocky shores of his home.

At first, he hated the Starks. Hated them for taking him from home, for sinking his brother's beautiful ships, for snatching him from the lap of his father and the arms of his sister. For ending the bravest rebellion Westeros had ever seen. But Lord Stark was kind to him, no matter how many times Theon cried and screamed and kicked. He taught him how to aim a bow, kill a stag, draw a sword, all alongside his own, true children. And when he excelled with the bow, far surpassing Robb or Jon, Ned Stark clamped a solid hand to his shoulder and told him his father, Lord Balon, would be proud. Theon was young and impressionable enough to believe him then, but he knew now: nothing he did would ever please his father again. Not when he was forced to relive his defeat every time Theon opened his ocean-blue eyes.

Theon still remembered his first night in Winterfell.

A boy of seven, Theon knew of the world only what his sister, Yara, and his nursemaids had taught him. But when he was forcibly taken from his chambers and tossed unceremoniously onto a ship headed north, his world expanded in the worst of ways. When they arrived, Yoren had thrown him into a cell outside the hold, and he remembered how ungodly cold it was in his islander tunic. Only savages would live in a place this cold. He thought they meant to let him freeze to death as punishment for his father's crimes, but after a while, a boy's face appeared in the snow, peering at him through the bars of his embarrassing cage.

"Why are you sleeping out here?" The boy couldn't have been much older than himself, and his curious brown eyes burrowed deep into Theon.

Still a little fire left in him, Theon jumped up, rattling the bars and frightening Robb, who took a few steps back. "You have to let me out of here, they're going to kill me!"

Robb regained his composure and then stepped closer to the freezing boy. "Why are they going to kill you? Did you run away from the Night's Watch?"

"Night's Watch? I'm Theon Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands, and my father says that the Starks are heathens who bow down to a tyrant. They are cowards who kill their enemies empty-handed instead of arming them and fighting to the death."

Theon was simply repeating things he had overheard his father saying, but young Robb angrily jumped to the defense of his family. "Theon Greyjoy is no prince-he's nothing more than a rebel's son! My father and the King's army defeated Greyjoy in battle twelve nights ago."

This was the first he had heard of his father's defeat. Surely it wasn't true. This boy must be lying to him-how could his brothers and their ships lose a battle on the water? _Their _waters? His heroes couldn't have failed him. "It's a lie! The Iron Islands are free!"

Theon distinctly remembered Robb Stark's next words: "Then why are you in a cage like a dog, _Iron Prince_?" And then he turned and disappeared into the white.

Robb must have run to his father after that because soon Lord Stark came to his cage and quickly unlocked the door. He dusted the snow off of Theon and put a cloak around his shoulders, keeping a firm grip on the young lad so he wouldn't run away, but not hard enough to hurt.

"You should have brought him directly to me, Yoren. He's not a common prisoner, he's Lord Balon's only living son." The words, spoken so plainly, fell like anvils into Theon's young ears. "Are you hurt, Theon?" But Theon couldn't answer, he could only cry. He cried for days on end, refusing food and kicking and biting anyone who tried to come too close. Every night, Ned would come into the room they had provided for him in the barracks to bring food and water.

"You have to eat." And finally, after a week of refusing solid food, Theon ate. He ate roast goat, cabbage stew, boiled potatos, sliced ham. Days later, he began talking again. Mostly crude, hateful things, but Stark was just glad to see that the boy wasn't mute. At first, Theon had to be under guard at all hours. He tried several times to escape his captors, always with plans to stowaway aboard some ship and sail home. After each attempt, he was brought back in chains. How humiliating it had been to stand there and apologize in front of the entire family while shackled and sniffling like a slave girl. Yoren had him beaten on occasion to keep him in line, but the other boys were not immune to these punishments by virtue of being free. Eventually, he stopped dreaming of a castle in the sea. There were even days when he felt like a Stark himself, but it was never a long-lived dream. Someone would always say or do something to remind him of his true position in their home: an outsider.

Soon after his arrival, Theon overheard a heated conversation outside his door between Lady and Lord Stark as he tried to fall asleep in a strange bed in a foreign land. Her voice bit like the icy wind:

"...bringing a _Greyjoy_ into our home, Ned? Are you mad?"

"What else was I to do? Robert would have had him killed like his brothers otherwise."

"So now it's our responsibility to raise a traitor? To let him eat at the table alongside our own children? First you bring home that woman's bastard, and now you expect me to raise the son of our enemies?"

"He's only a child, Cat. He's not to be blamed for the sins of his father."

"But he will always have the blood of a Greyjoy boiling inside of him. They're not like us, Ned. The Greyjoys have no honor and know no duty. As soon as he's able, he will betray us. And if not us, then our children. Do you want to put that burden on yourself? On me?"

There was a long pause. "I will raise him myself, and he will learn, or he won't eat. He's not like Balon. He will be a shark raised among wolves, and he will learn."

"I cannot possibly-"

"Quiet. We will not speak of this again. He is under my protection and anyone who disrespects him, disrespects me."

Even now, the memory stung. It seemed that every time Theon began to feel at home somewhere, someone would come along to put him back in his place: outside looking in. Even the Lannister imp looked down on him, mocked him through the bars of his cage. _Loyalty to his captors_? This very phrase sent him reeling. Sometimes, he prided himself on his loyalty to the Starks. Other times, it shamed him so deeply he could barely stand to look at himself. And that was something he generally enjoyed.

Years of being talked about as though he were not in the room had developed in Theon an excellent memory for every harsh word against him, and praises were few and far between. Lady Stark and Tyrion Lannister's voices were among those that would roll about in his head whenever his insecurities caught up with his pride. However, the words that had meant the most over the years, both harsh and kind, had been from a boy not much older than Theon.

From that first angry conversation, to the last words Robb had written him: _Be safe, my brother. Together, we will win this war. _Every word from his mouth elicited volumes of unspoken emotion from the young ward. Theon harbored a wildly burning jealousy for the eldest Stark. At times, he hated him. Wanted to be him. Wanted to beat him.

He could convince himself of his superiority to the other Starks: there were the girls, who posed no threat of course, and Bran and Rickon were still children hiding behind their mother's skirts. The bastard would inevitably fade into oblivion serving that nonsensical Night's Watch, but Robb? He was beloved by the Northern people. He was good at most everything he tried his hand at, handsome and charming to boot. Then there was that damnable Stark honor to speak of. And if Robb's war was successful, he wouldn't just be the lord of Winterfell anymore. He would be a fucking King.

How many times had Theon prayed to the gods of Ned Stark to reverse their positions? He pleaded with whatever gods would listen to let him take Robb away from his family to a strange land he was not suited for. To make Robb carry _his_ father's sword around and pledge fealty to _his _house. To make Robb feel unwelcome everywhere but with him.

He wanted so badly to impress Robb, to best him at anything and everything, and as he jolted awkwardly into puberty, that desire evolved into something even more unsettling.

Though out of place among the honor-bound Starks, animalistic lust was not unknown to the hot-blooded Greyjoys, and Theon took out his many frustrations in the company of whores and handmaidens. He even accompanied Robb and the bastard to the brothels outside of Winterfell on occasion. But no matter how many women bared their bodies before him, in the moments before orgasm he could only think of one thing: Robb Stark. Sometimes, they were boys, daring each other to jump in the river naked and coming up gasping for breath. Other times, they were hunting, crashing through the woods on horseback in hot pursuit of some strong, winter-hardened stag. But it was always Robb, filtering his dreams and waking life like sheet music to be followed.

It was because of this desire that Theon had chosen to stay on the Iron Islands instead of returning North with news of an alliance his father had refused. He thought that he could thaw the ice that had grown in his veins, that the sea salt in the wind would help him forget, to write a new song for himself. But months of raiding and ships and ocean couldn't drown out the songs the Stark family had taught him. His real father had no interest in him and his crew had little respect for an outsider. Even his new god seemed vicious and hollow. These months away had only taught Theon one thing, though he didn't dare speak it aloud: he was an outsider everywhere except by Robb's side.

It hurt when Ned Stark left him behind to go to King's Landing, but Ned knew what Theon refused to acknowledge: his rightful place was at Robb's side, not Ned's. All that time, Lord Eddard Stark had been training him to serve as ward and housecarl to his eldest son. He knew the importance of having trustworthy companions, and he believed Theon to be someone his son could ride into battle with, pass around a bottle of mead with, confide in. Theon prayed now that Ned would never know of his betrayal in the afterworld, if there was such a thing.

Now, he watched his sister sail back into port, all the harsh words coming back to him, fueling his confusion. She and his father had excluded him from their counsel, choosing instead to send him off fighting fishmongers and pirates. And now, as the trumpets blasted news of her glorious return, Theon had a terrible thought: those were far too many ships to take on a simple islander dispute. He had no idea how long Yara had been gone, as he had only returned to Pyke a few days ago, but the ships were outfitted with sails and crews meant for longer journeys, colder journeys...

Theon took off running down the cliffside path. Surely his fears were unfounded.


	2. Chapter 2

In the throne room, he was met with a celebration. Theon had never seen Lord Balon so...joyful. As he tried to part the crowd and ask his father what was going on, Yara arrived with her crew and the dark, drafty hall broke into catcalls and salutes. The men were calling her the Bay Queen, Lady of the Riverlands, the Terror of Winterfell. It was that last one that worried Theon. Among the throngs of singing and drinking, Yara made her way to Balon.

Formalities took over, and Yara bent one knee to their father as the crowds hushed. "Lord Reaper of Pyke, I have returned."

Balon stood and surveyed the hall full of seamen, soldiers, and pirates. He offered up a prayer to the Drowned God. "What is dead may never die!"

And the people responded with "But rises again, harder and stronger!"

Although baptized by seawater, Theon still felt uncomfortable in the presence of devotion to the Drowned God, and at this moment he was too concerned with the implications of this ceremony to remember to pantomime his own devotion.

"Rise up, Captain. Today, you have paid the Iron Price, and the Islands are ours once more! Today, the Ironbay, tomorrow all of Westeros!"

The hall exploded with triumph, and Theon balked. The Islands were free? Pride welled up inside of him until he began to wonder, at what cost? The men quieted down when Yara spoke again.

"Lord Reaper, allow me to present to you," the hall doors banged open, and a bloodied prisoner was dragged before the throne amidst the hooting and hollering of Yara's men.

"...the King of the North!"

Theon would recognize that bruised and battered body anywhere.

As he was paraded before the crowds, hands and feet weighed down by chains, Robb Stark kept his head up. And when he was thrown to his knees in front of Balon, he attempted to stand, knees shaking from the effort, but when that failed, he still managed to look his enemy in the eyes without fear. The bloodied rag tied around his head kept him from voicing his rage, but his eyes conveyed it all. That look froze the blood in Theon's veins once more, rooting him to the spot as he watched his idol and rival kneel before his father. Much like Theon had done as a boy before Ned Stark. It seemed the gods had granted the worst of his prayers and left the others untended.

The crowd grew loud with cheers of "King of the North" as Lord Balon spit at his feet. Balon's right-hand-man and executioner Desmon gathered his robes and rushed to Lord Balon's side in the ungainly manner of a crab scuttling sideways. He was almost drooling with the excitement of killing.

"What do you propose we do with him, Lord Reaper?" The gleam in his eyes said, _kill him kill him kill him let me kill him._ And he was rarely denied that privilege—the Drowned God approved of such bloodshed with fervor.

Theon remembered watching the quick deaths dealt by the Starks: a simple beheading or hanging, nothing flashy, nothing slow. But here, in the high cliffs of Pyke, death was a bitter art. The killing of one's enemies was a thing to be savored, teased and tasted. Days of public humiliation and torture were often followed by being burned alive and then thrown into the roaring waves. This was not what Theon had in mind when he wished this on his brother. The whole hall awaited the answer, and Theon knew what they wanted to hear.

Finally, Balon bellowed out, "Send the Stark to the stocks—he dies high sun tomorrow!" Theon knew what that meant: Robb would spend the remaining daylight hours chained up in the courtyard, exposed to the cruel beatings and jeers of the Iron Islanders, and night would bring no sleep for all the flogging. Then, when the sun came up, he would be dragged through every dirt road on the island as the villagers kick and spit, all before being forced to build his own funeral pyre. Apparitions of a fiery death and Robb's body falling from the cliffside as hundreds of Islanders cheered clouded his mind and all of his other thoughts stepped aside for the rage that grew rapidly within him.

_No, not Robb…they won't take Robb…_

As Yara's men stepped forward to escort the King of the North, so did Theon. The quick silver of his sword blocked their path as he planted himself between a cruel, hard death and Robb. They may not have respected him as a captain yet, but his swordsmanship was well known, and the men backed down, looking to Lord Balon for answers. Theon didn't dare turn away from the men to see his father's angry glare or the look of bewilderment on the young Stark's face behind him. He did, however, glimpse his sister's half-smile out of the corner of his eye. Was she laughing at him or maybe just a little proud of her brother?

Balon broke the silence: "Leave us!" And all but Balon's high counsel, Yara, and a few of her men scurried from the room like scatted cats. The heavy wooden doors shut roughly, leaving the room nearly empty, and Theon turned to face his father.

His breast heaving with rage, Lord Balon asked, "What is the meaning of this, Theon?"

Only an Ironborn could get away with disobeying the Lord Reaper, and even then Theon knew there would be a steep price to pay. If he was going to save Robb Stark's life, he would have to play his father's game. Pleas for mercy would only push Robb into his grave. No, he would have to appeal to his father's sense of pride. He took a deep, brave breath and funneled all of his own anger into his next few words: "You didn't tell me you were planning on kidnapping a Stark, father."

"Your sister and I weren't sure where your loyalties lay, Theon. We couldn't risk having you warn the Starks of our plans." He looked from Theon to Robb and back again, his brow furrowed in disapproval. "And clearly, we were right to have our doubts."

Realizing that any displays of compassion for a Stark would lead to trouble, Theon took a step back from his shackled friend and cloaked his worry for Robb in wounded pride. "I am a Greyjoy too, goddammit! Haven't I returned of my own free will from the captivity _you _sent me into? Haven't I taken my vows and been baptized in the sea like any other Greyjoy? I deserve a seat at your counsel, a say in our plans, and yet you've done nothing but keep me in the dark since I came here!"

"Enough, Theon! I should string you up next to your beloved King!" As Theon's indignation clamored for a fight, his sister intervened in his favor, stepping between the two angry Greyjoy men and their captive.

"Father, let me talk with Theon. Gerder, Vick-wait outside." Yara ordered her lapdogs to stand outside the door to the counsel room behind the throne and dragged Theon into the dark quarters. A single large fireplace was blazing, and Yara took a seat at the head of the table while Theon paced about, trying not to wring his sister's neck.

Yara propped her feet up on the table and waited for Theon to speak, seemingly amused by his confusion.

Theon slammed his hands against the table and shouted, "what the fuck is going on here, Yara?"

She was unfazed, perhaps even proud. A true Greyjoy was born angry. "It's simple. We struck a deal with the Queen: we get rid of that damned King of the North, and she gives us back our lands, waters, and freedom."

"Dammit Yara, you'll bring the Northerner's winter down on our heads! How much will that freedom be worth when Stark's armies come to sink our islands beneath the sea?"

"Don't worry, baby brother. The Starks have no soldiers that can walk on water. Our walls are unscalable. And Tywin Lannister's forces will soon be chasing the remains of a kingless northern army back to the wall."

"How could you make a deal with a Baratheon on the Iron Throne? Have you forgotten who it was that ended our last rebellion? That is not the Iron Price. Scheming and dealing with lions in their den? You're more like a diplomat than an Ironborn!"

"Oh, so it's _our _rebellion now, is it? Look who decided to become a Greyjoy! But mark my words, that lily-white whelp is no Baratheon-the Lannisters rule Westeros these days. And we rule the Iron Islands, part of the Riverlands and Ironman's Bay. For now, the Westerlands will remain Lannister territory, but one day, all those sworn to Casterly Rock will be ours as well. The Lannisters' forces are only there for the money. Our men are strong, hardened by the sea, and fiercely loyal to me. But in order to build an army to take on the Lannisters, it was necessary to get a foothold on the mainland. And you'll be glad to know that the Iron Price has been paid: I killed many a northern soldier when we ambushed Robb Stark's scouting party. But enough about my victories. Tell me, Theon, how many fisherman's wives did you rape while I was out reaping the harvest?"

"You've gone mad..."

"Don't you see, little brother? One day, the Greyjoys will rise to power once more. All of Westeros will fear our name, on land and sea, as it was meant to be."

"Balon would never agree to something like this. When I attempted to forge a truce between the Starks and the Iron Islands, he scoffed at me, and now he is allying himself with the Lannisters? What have you done, Yara? How did you convince him?"

Yara grabbed his collar forcefully, but without violence. "Listen closely, Theon. Father can't be trusted to make his own decisions anymore. He needs someone to make plans and bring him glory in his last days. Can you do that? Can you promise him on his deathbed that the Greyjoy name will be remembered, not as a failed rebellion, but as conquerors?" She let him go and turned towards the fire, flames reflecting in her sea-roused locks. Theon remained silent, watching her. Her next words sounded heavy with an uncharacteristic guilt. "I told him that I had communed with the Drowned God, and that he commanded me to takes steps to secure our future as Ironborn."

"You don't expect me to believe this religious nonsense?"

Yara took a few swifts steps towards Theon, eyes threatening him to make a move. "These lies are for the good of the Islands. Father trusts me, listens to me. The Drowned God may not recognize a Lady Reaper, but the people will. When father dies, I will take his place. I have more men behind me than anyone else on these shores, and I will have the throne. And I will kill any man who tries to take it from me."

"Keep your throne, sister-that's not what I'm after. These men respect you, the Drowned God be damned. But your plans to conquer Westeros will destroy us."

"Don't you want to be free? To rule the high seas again? Or it is something else that has you so bothered?" A smirk crept into her face with those last words, as if she knew Theon's secret.

"This isn't about Robb Stark! I have sworn myself to the Islands, to serving the Reaper, to your damned Drowned God! I demand the respect I deserve, and I am telling you that this decision to kill Robb Stark is the wrong one. Keep him hostage, and we will have a defensive weapon against the Starks for years to come, no matter what family sits on the Iron Throne. Kill him, and we have gained nothing but the rage of thousands of Northerners for centuries to come." He lowered his voice and held Yara's eyes in the firelight. "Please. Tell him the Drowned God demands it. Tell him we've no other choice. I don't care what you say to him, but don't let him harm Robb Stark. Exile me from the Islands, if that's what it takes. Because if he sends Robb Stark to his death, I will be burning right beside him for the killing of the Lord Reaper."

Yara was surprised by Theon's appeal, but impressed by his resolve. Their father had it all wrong: it was Greyjoy blood in those veins after all, not winter and the howling of wolves. Her hard gaze softened with affection for her little brother. "I will talk to father, but I cannot promise more than Robb's life. Don't expect him to walk away free. As for a seat on the counsel, if you still want it...I believe father will soon see that you are a true Ironborn." With that, she clasped his shoulders and walked back out into the fray.


	3. Chapter 3

…

So Theon waited. It wasn't patiently, but he waited. He paced the dark halls, stared blankly at the tapestries of bloodshed and battle and sea monsters, and thought of Robb. Robb, dark curls like the tentacles of an octopus, lips pink like the underbelly of a conch, and skin white as the breaking of a wave. No, no, no. Ocean metaphors would never do for a Stark, thought Theon. His hair, soft like the fur of direwolves. Lips, pink as windbitten skin. Skin white as the fresh-fallen snow, of course.

The sheet music had never been re-written, as Theon had intended. In fact, the song of Robb thrummed even louder in his veins than before, as though the thought of losing him was cue for an orchestra in his mind to tune their instruments and start again. He thought that coming here was a way to put his romantic-competitive compulsions behind him, but the gods seemed to have different ideas.

_I am being punished_, he thought. _The gods of the Starks are angry at my betrayal, and the Drowned God doesn't know me from driftwood. Because that's all I am: a useless, hollow log bobbing aimlessly about. I should never have left Robb's side, not after he finally told me we were brothers. How long had I waited to hear those words? And how have I repaid my adoptive family? With unwanted loyalty to another family? I fucked up. I brought this on Robb._

Worries and guilt filling him like a flood, Theon didn't like leaving Robb out there among the sharks. He wanted to trust in his sister, but his ears were alert listening for sounds of a sword leaving its sheathe. That sound never came, and eventually Yara re-entered the room.

Theon could barely contain himself. "So, what did he decide?" He tried to ask the question calmly, but his worry was obvious.

"Calm down, brother. No one has to die today—the Drowned God is feeling rather…flexible this fortnight."

In an un-Greyjoy-like show of appreciation, he hugged his sister roughly and felt her smile into his arms. She angrily shoved him away, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Theon breathed a little easier, but knew that it wouldn't all be smooth sailing as of yet. "What did you say to him?"

"I told father what you said about using Stark as a weapon against our enemies, and he seemed impressed. I may have thrown in a bit about the Drowned God's will, as well." She laughed at that, but then her face grew darker. "There's only one drawback, little brother." Theon's breath caught like cotton in his throat. "You have to claim Robb Stark as your merna."

Theon's thoughts grew tangled, marshy. Keeping a Stark as a merna? His father clearly meant to degrade the Northern people with this decree. Would he force him to complete the full, loathsome ceremony as well? Robb would hate him. That is, if he didn't already. But was there any other choice? Theon couldn't let his father torture and execute his own bloodless brother—no, he would never forgive himself for that. But if he did go through with this new plan, could he forgive himself then?

As a merna, Robb might have the chance to escape someday. As a prisoner of war, Robb would face excruciating pain and eventual death. But as a merna, he would lose something more. He would lose his pride, his dignity, his humanity. Robb would rather die than face the life of a Greyjoy's merna—of that, Theon was sure. The process of training a merna was meant to de-humanize, to turn even the fiercest of wolves into sheep. Wasn't this what Theon had always wanted? To best his rival and make him grovel at his feet? The victory felt hollow.

"Theon! Are you listening to me?" He shook off his thoughts. The decision had to be made now, and there was no time for doubt. If Theon appeared doubtful or weak in front of his father, he was afraid that Balon would use it as an excuse to kill Robb anyway. "Father wants to speak to you immediately. The ceremony will be tonight—Stark is already being prepared." Without a word, Theon walked past his sister into the hall. The doors slammed shut behind him as he made his decision, and he only paused when Lord Balon called his name.

"Theon! I will see you here tonight or the boy will die."

Theon didn't turn around to face Balon or the counsel. "I understand."

"And you _will_ keep him in line, or I will do it for you." Theon walked on, heart hard and jaw set for the night ahead. It wouldn't be easy, not for either of them. But if Robb survived it, maybe Theon could somehow make him understand. Maybe one day he would forgive him.

...

Please write me a review if you have any ideas or comments!


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